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Adopted Son
Linda Warren

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I dedicate this book to the readers who’ve e-mailed

and written to me asking about the McCains and

encouraging me to write another book about the

family. And especially to those readers who come

to the signings and stand in line waiting for a

book. You keep me writing. You keep me going.

Thank you.

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

A special thanks to Dottie Kissman and her daughter Phyllis Fletcher for sharing their Austin with me. And to all the nurses who answered so many of my questions.

Also Sergeant Frank Malinak, Texas Ranger, for so graciously answering my pesky questions.

Any errors are strictly mine and all characters are fictional.

CHAPTER ONE

“OFFICER DOWN! Officer down! We need help.”

Gunshots punctuated the frantic call that came through on Jeremiah Tucker’s police radio. He listened closely to the dispatcher’s response.

“There’s a pile-up on I-35. Hold on. Help is on the way. We’re routing someone there now.”

Tuck’s hands gripped the steering wheel. He’d known of the wreck, and had taken a detour on 12th Street through an Austin residential area. He was near the address, and unable to ignore a fellow officer in trouble. He swerved onto Springdale Road then sped down another street and whipped into a trailer park.

As a Texas Ranger, he didn’t usually answer calls. His job was investigating crimes, but this was different. Every second counted and it sounded as if the officer was short on seconds.

He pulled up behind a police vehicle, both doors of which were flung wide. An officer knelt on the graveled road, half lying against the seat of his squad car, shouting into his radio.

The trailer faced the road. Two old rusty vans were parked to the right, and a dog pen was to the left, shaded by a large oak tree. An officer lay facedown in the middle of the overgrown yard.

Tuck jumped out and ran to the officer by the car. “What’s the situation?”

The officer gasped for breath, one hand clutching the radio, the other clutching his upper arm as blood spurted through his fingers. Blood pooled on the gravel and his blood-covered gun lay on the seat. “We answered…a domestic call. As we walked up to the trailer someone…someone opened fire. I crawled back here, but Brian is hit bad. I can’t get to him. The idiot keeps…firing.” He gasped another breath. “Where in the hell is everybody? Brian needs help.”

“They’re on the way.” Sirens blared faintly in the distance. “Take a deep breath and try to relax.”

“I can’t, man. Brian is…”

“Let me take a look at your arm. Relax.”

“Help Brian, please,” the officer wheezed and slumped onto the seat.

Tuck checked his pulse and then the wound. A bullet had ripped straight through his upper arm, tearing open flesh, muscles and veins. Tuck’s main concern was the bleeding. He reached for his handkerchief and tied it tight above the wound. Soon the bleeding stopped. He felt the officer would be okay. He’d just passed out from loss of blood.

The sirens were drawing closer, but weren’t close enough. Tuck surveyed the scene and glimpsed a rifle poking out of one of the windows. The dog pen was made out of chicken wire and two pit bulls thrashed at the fence, testing the strength of the flimsy wire and barking aggressively at the downed officer in the yard. Any minute the structure was going to collapse like a cheap umbrella.

Tuck didn’t have any time to waste. Bending low, he darted to his vehicle, all the while keeping an eye on the rifle and the dogs. The officer on the ground moaned and Tuck knew he was still alive, but he needed medical attention immediately.

Several shots exploded, kicking up dirt around Brian. One nipped Brian’s shoulder. His body jerked. Tuck had to do something fast or the officer didn’t stand a chance.

Without another thought, he zigzagged toward the house. A shot blasted near his head, knocking off his hat. The sound burned his ears, but Tuck didn’t pause. He rolled and landed up against the cool aluminum siding on the front of the trailer—the rifle above his head.

Adrenaline chugged through his body like hillbilly moonshine. He sucked in a controlling breath, knowing the guy couldn’t get off a shot at that angle. Staring at Brian, Tuck debated how to get to him. Suddenly he heard loud voices, a woman’s and a man’s. He couldn’t make out the words, but they were angry. The curse words he heard clearly.

Standing slowly, Tuck considered the situation. The rifle was to his right. He could jerk it out of the man’s hands but before he could act, the gun was pulled inside. The voices grew louder, as did the cursing. The trailer shook from the impact of something thrown against a wall. Tingly sounds of glass breaking mingled with loud thuds.

Curtains covered the windows so Tuck couldn’t see what was going on inside. The only uncovered opening was the small pane on the front door. Taking a deep breath, he eased up the concrete steps. The voices weren’t close now—they’d moved farther down the trailer. He took a quick peep through the pane and saw complete chaos—broken furniture, dishes, junk, clothes and clutter everywhere.

But no people.

Drawing back, an image registered in his mind. It couldn’t be. He glanced again to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. He wasn’t. Among the clutter was a small boy, probably not even two years old, sitting in a corner chewing on a bag of dog food.

OhmyGod!

His heart sank, but he couldn’t let himself think about the boy now. He had to get to the officer while he could. Leaping from the steps, he sprinted to Brian, grabbed him beneath his armpits and pulled him toward the trailer out of harm’s way.

Agitated, the dogs threw themselves at the fence, barking, growling, wanting a piece of the officer. And a piece of Tuck. He kept one eye on them, praying the wire would continue to hold.

The sirens rolled closer. An ambulance and police cars roared up the street and came to a screeching halt, spewing gravel onto the trailer. Quickly, Tuck searched for the officer’s pulse. It was faint, but it was there. He was still alive. Thank God. Tuck sagged against the trailer.

Two officers ran to his aid, guns drawn. Three more officers followed, crouching beside Tuck.

“What’s happening?” an officer asked.

“Not sure. There’s a man in the trailer with a rifle.” Tuck gulped a breath. “I heard two voices, a woman’s and a man’s. And there’s a kid, too.”

“Damn.”

“This officer needs medical attention,” Tuck told him. “Another officer by the squad car has been hit.”

“Damn. We have to get him out of here. Has the shooter fired lately?”

“No. I think he’s at the end of the trailer by the dog pen. This is your best chance to move Brian.”

The officer motioned to the ambulance and it slowly backed in. “Hold on,” he said to Brian. “We got you covered.” He then shouted orders to the others.

Two other officers grabbed a gurney and had Brian loaded in seconds. The ambulance pulled away, stopping by the squad car to pick up the other wounded officer. Sirens blared full strength as the ambulance tore away.

Shots rumbled through the trailer then there was total silence. Even the dogs quieted down.

Officers wearing protective vests and carrying high-powered automatic weapons swarmed the trailer. One kicked in the door and they charged inside. Tuck followed. He had one goal—to get the kid out.

In the narrow hallway a man and a woman lay in a pool of blood; blood also coated the walls. They appeared to be dead. Drug paraphernalia was scattered on the kitchen table. Tuck turned away and walked directly to the child.

The boy was dirty, his hair matted, his clothes stained and ripped. A telling smell emanated from him and Tuck knew he probably hadn’t had his diaper changed in a while. The kid seemed oblivious to what was going on around him. He continued to chew on the small bag of dog food.

Tuck squatted down. “Hey, buddy, that’s not for you.” He reached to take it away and the boy grunted and bit his hand.

“That’s not nice,” Tuck said, and tried to take it again. The boy shook his head and held on with both arms. Tuck recognized the kid was hungry.

“Oh my God!” one of the officers said, staring at the kid.

“Keep an eye on him.” Tuck stood and searched the cluttered cabinets for food. He found nothing but dishes, pots and pans, junk, beer, cigarettes and liquor. “I’ll be right back,” he told the officer. “Don’t take your eyes off him.”

Tuck hurried to his car. He always kept peanut butter crackers in the glove compartment in case he didn’t have time to eat. Going up the steps, he held open the door for the justice of the peace, who had just arrived on the scene. He would have to declare the people dead before they could be moved to the morgue. Another ambulance rolled up, waiting among the swarm of police cars. Neighbors gathered outside in the cool March breeze.

Tuck went back to the little boy, who was still clutching the bag, his slobber all over it. He squatted again, showed him the crackers and handed him one.

“I’ll trade you, buddy. You…”

His words trailed off as the boy grabbed the cracker and stuffed it into his mouth. Before Tuck could react, the kid snatched the other crackers out of his hand, poking them into his mouth as fast as he could.

“He’s starving,” the officer remarked.

Tuck stood. “Yeah. And he’s filthy. He’s probably been neglected for a long time.”

“Sergeant Dale Scofield,” the officer said and stuck out his hand.

“Jeremiah Tucker, Texas Ranger.” They shook. “I was passing through the area and heard the call.”

“Thanks for the help.”

The crime scene people had arrived and Tuck and the sergeant stepped over trash to get out of the way.

“What do you think happened here?” Tuck asked, although he already had a good idea.

“This is a rental property and my guess is the woman was turning tricks and the man was a dealer or a pimp. There’s a naked man dead in the bedroom. Something went wrong that ticked off the shooter. Maybe he came home and found her with a guy she wasn’t supposed to be with. Who knows? An investigation might turn up something, but we’ll probably never know what really went down.” The sergeant glanced at the boy. “What kind of mother brings a kid into this type of situation?”

“A very bad one,” Tuck replied, watching the boy as he continued to wolf down the crackers. “Has Child Protective Services been called?”

“Yeah, someone is on the way. And the animal shelter’s picking up the dogs.”

Two paramedics pushed gurneys inside, waiting for the word to remove the bodies. Tuck reached down and picked up the boy. He figured the kid didn’t need to see anything else. The boy swung at him with his fists, making angry sounds, but Tuck gathered him up to get him out of here. The kid was like a wild animal and Tuck had a hard time controlling him.

An officer ran to him with a box of doughnuts and a plastic cup of cola with a straw in it. “Sarge said to find all the food we could,” he said. “This is it.”

“Thanks,” Tuck replied, trying to hold down the kid’s hands. “Just put it on the hood of my car.”

“Sure.”

Tuck sat the boy on the hood, again noting his powerful odor. “Hey,” he called to the officer. “See if there are some diapers in the trailer. He needs to be changed.”

“Will do. And the name’s Mike.”

“Thanks, Mike.”

The kid snatched the drink and sucked greedily on the straw. Evidently he’d had sugary drinks before.

“Hey, buddy. Slow down.” Tuck opened the half-empty box and wondered if the boy could eat a doughnut or if too much food all at once was good for him. He closed the box, deciding to just let him drink the cola. They’d have him in the E.R. soon enough.

The little boy’s face was dirty and his matted hair greasy and long. Wary brown eyes glanced at him from time to time much as a starved animal would—on guard in case Tuck tried to take the drink away.

Anger churned inside Tuck at what had been done to this little life. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the bodies being loaded out. How could a mother do this to her own child?

Mike came running back. “I couldn’t find any diapers, but here are a couple of towels.”

“Thanks.” Tuck placed them on the hood.

“I have diapers.” A lady in her fifties walked up with a diaper bag slung over one shoulder. “I’m Opal Johnson, caseworker.” She glanced at the kid. “So this is the little boy I was called about?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tuck replied, and introduced himself.

Opal wrinkled her nose. “I assume that odor is coming from the baby.” Without waiting for a reply, she plopped the bag on the hood and pulled out a diaper and baby wipes. “Let’s see if we can’t make him smell better.”

Tuck spread out the towels and laid the boy down. He didn’t object; he was too busy sucking on the straw. Tuck held the cup to one side so it wouldn’t spill all over the kid.

Opal pulled the boy’s pants down and undid his diaper. “Oh, no!”

“What?” Tuck glanced down and his stomach burned with fury. Urine and feces clung to the baby’s butt in infected sores. It looked as if the baby’s diaper hadn’t been changed in days. He had to be in tremendous pain.

“Watch him for a moment, please,” Opal said.

“What are you going to do?”

“Call for another ambulance.” She reached for her cell in her pocket. “This baby needs medical attention immediately.”

Tuck looked down at the boy, chewing on the straw. “It’s going to be all right, buddy. I promise.” He patted his chest and the boy slapped his hand away. “That’s okay. You hit all you want. You deserve to hit someone.”

“An ambulance is on the way,” Opal said. “It was headed for the wreck on I-35, but all casualties have been picked up so it’s coming here.”

“Good.”

Tuck helped Opal bundle up the baby in the towels as an ambulance whizzed into the drive. Opal carried the boy to the paramedics, talking to them for a minute before running for her car.

The ambulance screeched away and Tuck hurried to Opal. “May I have your phone number? I’d like to follow up with the boy. See how he’s doing.”

She gave him a strange look but rattled off her number. Tuck reached for the pad in his pocket but realized he’d lost his pen, probably somewhere in the yard.

“Don’t worry, Ranger Tucker,” Opal said, starting her car. “I’ll call you.”

Tuck heaved a sigh as the vehicles disappeared out of sight. He was left standing alone while the crime unit members worked inside the trailer. Neighbors stood in their yards, talking and watching. Tuck’s hat lay on the lawn and he walked over and picked it up.

The March wind ruffled his hair and he swiped a hand through it, staring at the bullet hole in the top of his hat. Damn. He’d bought the Stetson about two months ago and had just broken it in. Oh well, better a hat than his life.

He crawled into his car with a weariness he hadn’t felt in a long time, the weariness of life and its cruelties. In his line of work he saw a lot of cruelty, but this particular incident hit close to his heart.

Tuck himself had been abandoned as an infant, left in a cardboard box at the Tuckers’ mailbox. The Tuckers, who took in foster children, had adopted him. He’d often wondered about the woman who had left him there. When he was younger he’d carried a lot of resentment about being thrown away, but as he grew older he realized the enormous gift he’d been given—the gift of a life. His mother had to have known the type of people the Tuckers were, and must have known they would give her son the best.

And they had.

How Tuck wished that little boy’s mother had been as selfless.

LATER TUCK SAT in his mother’s old rocker on his porch, soaking up that feeling of home. He still lived in the Tucker house, outside of Austin, and he probably always would. His mixed-breed terrier, Samson, better known as Sam, and his Siamese cat, Delilah, called Dee, lay at his feet. The cedar from the porch columns wafted to his nostrils, calming him. Laden rosebushes, his mother’s pride and joy, covered the back fence. Soon they’d be in full bloom. His horses galloped in the pasture, enjoying the brisk wind blowing through the Texas Hill Country.

This was home.

After a harrowing day, it was always great to come back here, the only home he’d ever known. His parents were gone now, but his foster brother, Eli, lived about half a mile down the road on the same property. He and Eli were the two kids who stayed forever with Jess and Amalie Tucker. Eli’s mom was Jess’s niece and she’d brought Eli to live with her uncle when Eli was thirteen. At that age Eli had been wild and uncontrollable, rebelling against a father who’d never claimed him.

But Ma and Pa worked their magic and Elijah Coltrane turned into a fine young man, becoming a Texas Ranger just like Jess Tucker. That’s all Tuck and Eli ever wanted to be.

They’d inherited equal parts of land, but Tuck had inherited the house. Even though he had family close, some days he felt so alone.

All his friends were married and had families. He was the lone bachelor, but marriage wasn’t for him. He wasn’t sure when he’d first decided that. Eli said it was because he didn’t know who his parents were, but Tuck thought there was so much more to it.

It probably had all started when he’d turned sixteen, got his first vehicle and started dating. He had a crush on one of the popular girls in school and he’d asked her out, but she didn’t want him to pick her up at her house. He’d always met her at the mall or the movies. Thinking that was strange, he’d told her that he would pick her up at her home. He had a truck and he wanted to show it off.

She’d told him he couldn’t because her parents didn’t approve of him. That shook him. He was a good kid; he was Jess Tucker’s son. She said it wasn’t anything against him personally; it was those other kids his parents took in. Their parents were druggies, drunks, felons, and her parents didn’t want her anywhere near those types of people.

Tuck reminded her he was one of those people. She said he was different, but he wasn’t. For the first time he realized there was a stigma attached to foster kids and abandoned kids. He never dated the girl again, nor did he want to. He was proud of his parents and he hated that the seed of doubt had been planted in his mind.

In college he fell in love for the first time. Rachel said she loved him, too. They started to make plans and they talked about children. He’d told her that he didn’t want to have children of his own. He tried to explain that he felt it was selfish of him to bring his own children into the world while there were so many others who needed a good home. She informed him quickly that she wasn’t raising someone else’s troubled kids.

He saw her in a different light then, but realized that he was asking a lot of her and broke it off. He was glad he found out her opinions before instead of after the marriage, though. A love he thought was forever died suddenly. That was an awakening in itself. The most powerful love he’d ever known was the love his parents had given to foster kids. It was selfless. Empowering. He saw it every day of his life as he was growing up.

So many abused and abandoned kids had come through their home. Under Ma’s and Pa’s love and care he watched battered kids grow strong, confident. All it took was one caring person to change a life.

He wanted to do that—to give back what he’d been given as a child. Ever the optimist, he had given love another try. Bethany worked at the courthouse and he saw her often. They talked about the future and she told him he was a wonderful man for wanting to help others, especially children. He relaxed, feeling secure in their love. Soon he asked her to marry him and he was happy in the knowledge that he’d found someone who understood him.

Her girlfriends had thrown them a big engagement party. There were a lot of people there whom Tuck didn’t know and he was eager for the evening to end. Toward midnight, he went in search of Bethany. She and a couple of her friends had disappeared about thirty minutes before.

He went upstairs to the bedrooms. A door was slightly ajar and he heard her voice. He thought they were talking girl talk and he didn’t want to intrude, but then he heard his name and something kept him rooted to the spot.

Even today he could remember the conversation almost word for word. Hannah, Bethany’s friend, said how brave Bethany was for agreeing to Tuck’s plans of taking in foster kids and not having any of their own.

“Oh, please,” Bethany had said. “Tuck doesn’t mean any of that stuff.”

“He seems pretty serious to me.”

“After we’re married, I can change his mind, and if I accidentally get pregnant, well, oops.”

Tuck pushed opened the door then and as they’d stared at each other, they’d known it was over. That pain cut deep and his trust in women took a tumble. He didn’t want a woman to change him or pay lip service to his wishes and plans. He wanted a woman to love him for who he was and he’d finally accepted that wasn’t going to happen. So he decided he could achieve his dream alone.

He took a swallow of beer, putting the past out of his mind. His thoughts strayed to the little boy. Tuck had called the hospital and they said he’d been treated, sedated and was resting comfortably. He’d go to the hospital first thing in the morning.

He heard a car drive up, but he didn’t move. It was probably Eli. Living so close together, they had keys to each other’s houses. Eli would check the house first then the back porch.

“Hey, Tuck. We thought we’d come for a visit.” The French door behind Tuck opened and Eli stepped out onto the porch with his six-month-old son, Jesse, in his arms. He had a diaper bag slung over one shoulder.

“Hi.” Tuck smiled at his nephew, a replica of Eli except for the blond hair, which was like his mother’s. Tuck held out his hands and Jesse wiggled to get to him. Eli plopped Jesse onto his lap.

Tuck raised him into the air and the baby gurgled loudly. “I see him almost every day and each time he seems to get bigger.” In that respect Jesse took after Eli, who was over six feet, well built and muscled.

“I know. It’s hard for Caroline to cart him around in the carrier.” Eli tousled his son’s hair. “So how was your day?”

Tuck told him about the little boy.

“Ah, man. That’s bad.”

“I’ll check on him again tomorrow. I hope they find him a good home.”

“They will.” Eli shook his head at the whole ugly mess. “I need a beer.” He turned back into the house. “Want one?”

“I got one,” Tuck replied, pointing to his beer on the table.

Jesse was fascinated with Tuck’s shirt pocket, sticking his fingers in and out, chewing on his fingers and then doing it again.

“You’re one lucky little boy,” Tuck told him. “You have parents who will never let you down.”

Jesse bumped up and down on Tuck’s knees and made cooing sounds. Unable to resist the baby, Sam reared up on Tuck’s thigh, wagging his tail. Jesse wriggled trying to get to the dog. Smiling, Tuck let him touch Sam and Jesse’s excitement grew.

Eli came back, a Bud Light in his hand. “Do they even know who the little boy is?”

“They’re investigating now.”

Jesse gurgled again, drawing their attention.

Eli sat on the edge of the other rocker, watching his son. “I’m thinking about calling him Jess. I know Jesse was on Pa’s birth certificate and Caroline liked it at the time, but now that he’s older I like Jess. It’s what everyone called Pa, anyway.”

Tuck rolled his eyes. “Could you be more transparent?” Eli and Caroline had decided to name their son after Eli and Tuck’s foster father.

“What?”

“Jesse sound too feminine for you?”

Eli took a swallow of beer. “Maybe.”

Tuck bounced the boy on his knee. “What does Caroline think of the idea?”

“She rolled her eyes just like you did.”

Tuck laughed, and it felt good to talk nonsense with his brother. “Pa said as he grew older everyone started calling him Jess. It will probably be the same with Jesse.”

“Yeah. And Caroline won’t think I’m a macho pig.”

“Caroline doesn’t ever think that about you.”

“Hmm. She understands me better than anyone.”

Tuck raised an eyebrow. “And believe me that’s not easy.”

“Come on, I’m a big old teddy bear these days.”

Tuck just grinned. Caroline had changed his brother for the better. He was softer, more approachable. He and Caroline were good for each other. Tuck envied that. He wasn’t jealous because he was happy for them. They’d found something rare—true love.

He wasn’t so jaded by past experiences that he didn’t believe in love anymore. He did. But for him life was different. His goals were different from most men’s. He knew a lot of his attitudes had to do with the circumstances of his birth, but so far he hadn’t found a woman to change his way of thinking.

At his age, he didn’t think that was ever going to happen. That was fine, too. He was content with the choices he’d made.

“Is Caroline working tonight?” Caroline was a professional photographer and often worked late.

“No. She had a magazine shoot this morning that ran into the late afternoon. Mr. Fussy Pants here is teething and wouldn’t sleep when he was supposed to. Caroline is soaking in a hot tub and I’m giving her some quiet time.”

Jesse tried to jam both fists into his mouth, chewing away as slobber ran down his chin.

“He’s trying to eat his hands,” Tuck remarked.

Eli dug in the diaper bag and handed Tuck a cloth. He waved a teething ring in front of Jesse. “Chomp on this for a while, son.” Jesse clamped onto the ring.

Tuck wiped Jesse’s chin. “Does he keep y’all up at night?”

“Sometimes.”

“Why don’t you go home and unwind with Caroline,” Tuck suggested. “I’ll watch Jesse.”

Eli jumped to his feet. “You got a deal.” He kissed the top of Jesse’s head. “Daddy will be back later.” Eli paused in the doorway. “This is where he’s supposed to cry because I’m leaving him.”

“He’s not going to cry.” Tuck bounced Jesse up and down. “He’s happy with Uncle Tuck.”

“Yeah. I’ll pick him up later.”

“Take your time. I don’t have plans.”

After Eli left, Tuck grabbed the diaper bag and went inside. Sam followed. Dee decided she’d rather stay outdoors. He gathered toys out of the bag and eased down on the area rug. Jesse crawled all over him instead of playing with the toys, the teething ring firmly gripped in one hand.

Jesse poked his fingers in Tuck’s eyes, ears, nose and mouth. Tuck wiped away slobber and just enjoyed the wonder of this curious child. He thought about kids and how some were born into privilege and others into horrible circumstances. Trying to understand why would be impossible. And he probably wasn’t supposed to. That’s why there were people like Jess and Amalie Tucker—to even the odds.

At that moment he felt incredibly lucky.

Maybe that’s why he felt so strongly about his plans to one day refurbish the farmhouse and take in foster children. Every child needed a chance like the one he’d been given.

A knock at his back door interrupted his reverie. He swung Jesse into his arms and got to his feet.

“We got company, Jesse.” He wiped away more slobber. “Wonder who it is?”

He stopped at the door. Grace Whitten, Caroline’s sister, stood on the other side of the screen. He pushed it open, his heart knocking against his ribs the way it always did when Grace was near. He never quite understood that because the woman could annoy the hell out of him with very little effort.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Jeremiah.”

He tensed and felt that seething annoyance creep up his spine. No one called him Jeremiah but Grace.

“But I was over at Caroline and Eli’s and no one answered the door. I…” Her words halted as she held out her hands to Jesse. “Come to Auntie Grace. I should have known they were here. Both their vehicles are at their house.”

Jesse practically leaped into her arms.

Traitor.

“Hi, precious,” Grace cooed as she walked in without an invitation.

“Don’t call him precious,” Tuck said, closing the door.

Grace turned to face him. “Why not?”

The objection had come out of nowhere and he couldn’t explain it. Maybe it had something to do with the talk he and Eli had had earlier about the macho stuff. He could blame Eli, but obviously he had issues about boys being boys and girls being girls. Or whatever. Grace had a way of making him nuts. He’d blame her. That was easier.

He waved his hand. “Never mind.”

Grace glanced around his kitchen and den for Caroline and Eli. He watched the patrician features of her face. She had to be the most reserved, uptight woman he’d ever met. Her exterior was cool, composed. Always. He’d never seen her any other way and he’d known her for four years.

Grace was a dedicated career woman. Dressed in a navy suit, white silky blouse and high heels, she wore her blond hair pulled back in a neat knot at her nape. Not one hair was out of place. Ever. Perfect came to mind when he looked at Grace.

Perfect and beautiful.

Untouchable beauty.

Like a mannequin on display.

He wondered what would happen if he reached up and took the pins out of her hair. Would she be transformed into a woman with emotions and needs? He shook his head to rid himself of that insane thought. Grace was the head of the Whitten Law Firm, following in Congressman Stephen Whitten’s footsteps. Everything in her life she did to please her father.